How We Heal
by Tyrotoxis
Summary: An influenza pandemic hit South Park hard. It spread at a rapid rate. Just about everyone caught it with the exception of Kyle. It killed many people, and took one too many with it.
1. Hospital Beds

**How We Heal**

_Hospital Beds_

AN: This is based off of a picture by kyuubikun. Also, this fic will have short chapters, but many of them. I'll be putting them up quickly so there's not much wait for this one. :P

As for _Water_, I'm not sure if I'm going to discontinue that or not, but I might. Sorry guys. :)

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

_

* * *

Kyle switched off the TV and glanced over the machines that monitored Stan and filled the silence with clicking, whirring, and subtle glowing. He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Stan's IV, just so that the nurses that came in when it beeped didn't have to go around him. Stan was still staring up at the TV with a glazed over look._

_Kyle sighed and rubbed his face warily, hesitantly mumbling, "I…I have to go soon."_

_Blue eyes made their way to Kyle's face from the screen in the corner of the room, and Kyle bit his lip, looking down at his lap to avoid the gaze. Stan turned onto his side slowly in the white bed and gave a tired smile, scooting over slightly to make some room. Kyle got the hint and slipped in beside him, wrapping his arms cautiously around his middle. Stan hated to be alone and would more often than not request this much from the Jew when their parents weren't around. Kyle always complied eagerly because it was exactly what he needed too._

"_I'll miss you," Stan mumbled softly as he sluggishly wrapped his arms around the redhead. Kyle reached up and removed the oxygen mask from Stan's face. He licked his dried lips quickly before leaning in to kiss Stan's bottom lip tenderly. The risk of him being infected this way was definitely high, but he stopped caring so long ago. He lingered there for a moment and pulled away only slightly to trail his tongue along the ebony haired teen's chapped lips as well. He kissed them once more and smiled softly, letting out a more content sigh._

"_I'll be here tomorrow after school, you know. I always am, dude."_

"_Can't you stay the night…?" For some reason, saying this much without pausing made Stan need to cough. He lowered his head in between their bodies and tried to hold it in, but he couldn't help it. A fit ensued, and Kyle waited patiently for it to subside while rubbing Stan's back soothingly. Once it did, Stan scooted even closer and pressed his face into Kyle's chest, tears welling up in his eyes. Kyle started to feel it through his shirt and swallowed the lump in his throat. He never knew how bad it really was to be alone in a place like this. Hospitals are where people are born, treated and cured, and die. The only in between of life and death was the condition Stan remained in now._

"_Seriously, my mom hates it when I stay during the weekend. She always says that I'm testing my luck by being with you all the time and that I'll be sorry when I catch it." Kyle rolled his eyes at the last part and shifted slightly, trying to look over at what time it was. 9:40 P.M. His mom would call soon to make sure he was heading home. He knew she would._

"_C'mon…Please?"_

"_I'll convince my mom to let me stay tomorrow night, but she'll kill me if I pull it on her out of the blue tonight. Dude, I swear I'll be here tomorrow as soon as school's out." _

_Stan's grip tightened slightly around him, and the readhead glanced over at the clock again. He didn't want to leave either. There was no where else he would rather be than there._

"_I'll stay here until you fall asleep, okay? Then I have to go."_

_Stan nodded slightly, closing his eyes. He felt like shit. His body was failing him. He was stuck in a hospital bed all day every day unless he had to pee or something, but even then he was almost too weak to do that. It hurt to laugh, it hurt to cry. Hell, there was no escape in sleep either. His parents and Kyle were the most important people to him. Of course, Kyle was at the very top. Always was. Being with Kyle was his only salvation. Kyle should know. He should always know how much it means to be this close to his heart._

"_I love you."_

_Kyle reiterated the fact in reply and kissed Stan's head affectionately. He nuzzled into the dark hair and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the machines surrounding them fill his ears._


	2. Disenchanted

**How We Heal**

_Disenchanted_

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

"Kyle, we need you to eat, bubbala."

"Sheila…"

"He's nothing but skin and bones, Gerald!"

"Let's leave him alone for now, he's really upset. I'm sure he'll come around."

She pursed her lips into a thin line and frowned at her husband. She wasn't going to let her boy ruin himself this way, but there wasn't much she could do now but be patient with Kyle. She left his bedroom doorway first, and Gerald soon followed afterwards. Kyle remained silent and unmoving on his bed, staring out his window at the snow collecting on the sidewalks and grass. He planned to go to the synagogue when they were all asleep. He needed to talk to God.

What kind of God did this to people? To _him_? He knew he was a good person. He always tried to be a good person, but then… Happiness was swept out of his hands like sand in the warm, yet terrorizing wind, and he didn't understand _why_.

An influenza pandemic hit South Park hard that year. The rapid rate at which it spread was crazy, and it got just about everyone. Kyle didn't catch it, but all of his friends did. Hundreds of people died from the mutated virus, young and old, and it took one too many with it.

Stan was in the first wave of people to catch it. He caught it when the scientists and the doctors were still off guard. They didn't see it coming. No one knows when these things are about to happen. No one except God maybe, but Kyle wasn't sure if he wanted to believe that. If the God _he _was taught to worship knew this would happen, He would have stopped it. Wouldn't He?

Stan was hospitalized within a few days because he wasn't getting better; he only got worse and worse. It showed. He was pale and thin in a terrifyingly gaunt way. His hair was matted to his forehead constantly from sweat, though he was almost always shivering. They had to put ice bags on him at some points because his fever reached over 103 degrees. His eyes were always puffy and red and watering whenever he was actually awake, so Kyle never knew if he was really crying or not when he was at his bedside. No matter what the readhead did, the teenager he had grown to love so much was always in some kind of pain.

When they talked, it was short and filled with complaints. Stan always felt woozy when he sat up, and his headaches were constant. So were the aches all over his body. Stan looked miserable and fatigued even as they watched Terrance and Phillip together. Sometimes he'd chuckle lightly, but tried not to because it would lead to horrible coughing fits. His voice was raspy and strained, and he looked pained whenever he had to speak. He preferred not to, but Kyle needed some comfort too. His best friend and lover was dying and all he could do was watch. He took advantage of his ability to visit to the extent of staying there all day and overnight on weekends. Sometimes Kenny or Cartman or their other classmates came, but none were more dedicated to help Stan fight the illness more than Kyle. His parents were usually there with him, taking off work to help their son fight for his life.

No vaccines or cures or anything had been made, and Stan was running out of time quickly. Everyone knew that no matter how much they didn't want to admit it. Kyle knew it was coming. The fact that he survived as long as he did amazed even the doctors that treated him, but that meant nothing in the end.

Kyle wasn't there when Stan died.

The readheaded Jew was sitting in class thinking about what he could do to make Stan feel better when he was called into the principal's office along with Kenny. Cartman would have been called in as well, but he had caught the flu a day or two before. The atmosphere was solemn when they walked into the room, and when they were told Stan died within the hour, Kyle's breath caught in his throat. Tears were welling up in Kenny's eyes, but no such reaction came from the other teen. They were both given permission to go home, but Kyle felt like his legs were glued to that spot on the floor as he stared at the principal and counselor in shock. Stan couldn't have died. He wasn't _supposed_ to die. He wasn't even in his twenties yet. He was supposed to graduate with Kyle and spend the night together after they got their diplomas. He was supposed to stay with Kyle forever as super best friends and so, so much more.

His mind wandered over the events from the past night as he ran from the school building with the intent of getting to the hospital bed Stan should still have been in. Stan couldn't leave him behind like this.

He didn't want to be alone either.


	3. Time To Pretend

**How We Heal**

_Time To Pretend_

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

"_I love you too, Stan."_

Kyle regretted the fact that forty minutes later, he slipped out of the hospital bed, put Stan's oxygen mask back on, and left. He regretted every step he made towards his house the night before because the bed that once held the most important person in his life was empty. The pale room looked as if they hadn't spent what felt like ages in there; it was like nothing had even touched it. Panting, he looked around wildly just to be sure he was in the right place. Of course Stan wouldn't be there when he came back. This was a horrible, stupid dream.

_Stan isn't dead._

He had to tell himself that because there _was_ a God so far that he knew. There had to be.

He went inside the empty room and sat in the chair he'd always sit in right beside the bed. He laid his hand across the sheet and looked at the empty IV stand.

_This is a messed up dream. Shouldn't I wake up now?_

_I want to wake up._

_Please, let me wake up._

He smoothed the tiny wrinkles on the covers over with his hand, trying to imagine Stan still there. He tried to imagine the sounds of the machines again and how annoyed he was with them at first and then how they became almost comforting. He tried to imagine holding Stan's hand again while he was sleeping, and the subtle affectionate squeeze he would receive even in the deepest of sleep.

After sitting there for an hour, a nurse finally came in and escorted him out. He was resistant at first, but he didn't need much more of a push to leave. For a while, he wandered around aimlessly until he unsurprisingly found himself at Stan's doorstep. Biting his lip, he hesitantly knocked on the door.

Stan's mom answered, tears still staining her flushed cheeks from hours of mourning. He wanted to ask, as if he didn't know, why she was crying.

_I hate this…This nightmare. _

She didn't say anything before she wrapped her arms around the taller boy, sobbing into his shoulder. Kyle numbly patted her back and gave her a comforting hug. They had sat together at Stan's bedside and talked while Stan was sleeping too many times to count. She had come to trust and rely on the readhead for mutual support in case she broke down and vise-versa. He wasn't ready to admit it was real. That all the reasons why he should break down and cry were true. That every moment of Stan's slow deterioration was what Kyle would remember most vividly as he grew older. That he would remain with a gaping hole in his heart until the day he died. That he would have to heal himself.

He wasn't ready, but everything continued against his will.

A week after his death, Stan was buried in the town's cemetery. Watching the burial caused Kyle to completely relapse into himself. Already he had suffered sleepless nights and spent his days in complete solitude, but this type of goodbye drained the life from him, only to be replaced by depression. It filled him to the brim. He lost his appetite and lost his interest in everything, including school. He wouldn't have gone if his mother hadn't forced him to do at least that much. All he did was sit in class and stare down at his desk silently. He avoided the comfort that was offered to him from his friends. He didn't need or want it. He didn't need to cry.

He wouldn't.


	4. The World of Midnight

**How We Heal**

_The World of Midnight_

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

Something led him there.

Something strange and mystifying and melancholy made him leave the warmth of his room and out into the cold where the snow was past his ankles. Although his mind was murky, he knew where he was going. The redhead could have walked there in his sleep.

_But wasn't it supposed to all be a dream?_

Two weeks ago everything fell apart.

Two weeks seemed too soon for everyone to forget. It was too soon to stop hearing about Stan's 'untimely death'. It was too soon for everyone's tears to dry up. It was too early to move on and find a replacement for the lost piece of the puzzle.

Yet Kyle was still left behind to gather up the scattered parts of his mind and soul alone.

The redhead could hardly bring himself to get out of bed, yet he could not sleep. Lethargic, he laid in there all day, his eyes just staring lifelessly at nothing. When night fell, his eyes trailed over to the window, watching the snow fall.

An hour passed and slowly, he left his bed.

Stark's pond wasn't far from that part of the woods. In fact, it was just a few yards from it. Stan and Kyle used to go there together. No one could ever find them out there. It didn't matter what they were doing or how they were doing it. That was the place that made them feel like they were the beating hearts for the world; it was sanctuary.

Apathetic to the cold, he lay down in the snow, staring up at the sky. He could see the blue clearly even though snowflakes were cluttered together in small white puffs, falling into his vision. That blue was like Stan's eyes, but the color of his eyes was so much better to look at.

Closing his eyes, he breathed in the familiar smell.


	5. Soul Meets Body

**How We Heal**

_Soul Meets Body_

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

It was the saddest, most depressing thing he had ever seen.

Not once had he ever seen Kyle like this. Never did he once expect the redhead to react to anything so miserably. This wasn't like Kyle to withdraw himself from his friends and family. It wasn't like him to wallow in his depression and let everyone worry about him. This wasn't his Kyle anymore.

Stan had never been so…disappointed in him.

The boy before him was soaked in a murky, tar-like substance that still dripped from his face as if he was periodically bathed in it. Sitting on the ground hunched over, his bare skin was barely visible through the muck. It was sealing him in. Depression and misery and regret had sealed him permanently into a disgusting, unrecognizable shell.

Clouded green eyes stared up at Stan, and he knew the person he loved was still there; he was still tangible. He took a pail full of water and dumped it on the redhead, washing away the foul, inky fluid.

Kyle's eyes met Stan's once again. He was still so dejected looking.

Pursing his lips, the raven haired boy gently caressed Kyle's skull, tangling his fingers into the curly wet hair. After a short moment, he dug his fingers deep into the tender, pale scalp. Kyle groaned loudly in pain and whimpered as the anxiety and melancholy that clouded his mind spurted from the areas Stan's fingers penetrated. It was like black smoke in a sky of fireworks; a dark, slow fog that stained Stan's fingers as it seeped out.

With Kyle's mind calmed and clear, he finally stood on his own two feet. His head drooped, and his gaze stayed on the ground even as Stan approached him. Partially concealed at his side was a pair of scissors. Kyle did not notice, nor did he move as Stan held his arm and closed the gap in between their bodies, plunging the scissors about two inches into his stomach. He cringed, his arms twitching from the shock. Stan slowly pulled the scissors out and took a step back while the redhead curled inward, clenching the bleeding wound as his face contorted in pain.

Slowly the look drained from his face as a tiny, blood red butterfly suddenly slipped through his fingers and fluttered towards Stan. He dropped one of his arms to his side while his other hand stayed at the wound, touching and feeling inside of it curiously while more butterflies flew out, drifting over to Stan.

The treasured feelings that used to bubble up in Kyle's stomach were surrounding him, and he closed his eyes, listening to their soft, adoring whispers. The fluttering of their bloody wings was calming and sweet, and he took in the moment, one whisper at a time.

As the butterflies dissipated, Kyle took a step towards him, and Stan placed a hand on his chest, looking up at him. Kyle's lips moved as if he was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Stan sighed softly and raised his other hand, pressing the tips of the scissors to the skin of the left side of Kyle's chest. Carefully, he cut open the flesh, and his heart fell to the ground like small shreds of fabric.

Without another word, Stan gathered the pieces and carefully stitched them together. It was tedious, and the state of his heart was saddening, but slowly he mended it. Kyle was watching him in slight awe the entire time, seemingly unable to do more than just that.

When Stan stood and placed the patched heart back in Kyle's chest, tears began to well up in the redhead's eyes.

Stan's mouthed Kyle's name in the silence, and slowly the taller boy drifted away, closing his eyes.


End file.
